


Keeping Up Appearances

by BonDotCom



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, Minor Laura Hollis/Danny Lawrence, Other, Slow Build, a no we're not dating what are you talking about we hate each other au, the opposite of a fake-dating au, there will be boning later thus the rating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-04-19 23:52:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4765661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonDotCom/pseuds/BonDotCom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We’re both professors in the same department and it enhances your reputation with the students as a mysterious enigma and my reputation as a stone-cold terror if we pretend to hate each other, plus when we back each other up in departmental meetings everybody’s so surprised they give in right away" AU</p><p>The whole act really made sense in the beginning. You never intended to keep it up for so long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Impressions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was going to not post this until I had more chapters written but then 2x30 happened and now I'm in emotional distress.
> 
> When I saw the prompt (maybe a month ago?) on Tumblr I thought "oh man I could totally write a Hollstein thing on this this is funny" and then it got out of hand. I'm super long-winded, apparently.

Going into your first year as a full Professor (no more of this Assistant or Adjunct crap, but an actual Professor) you resolved to become The Hardass. After years of students not taking you seriously because of your petite stature and “cute” face you've decided that if you can develop the kind of reputation that strikes fear into the heart of every freshman then maybe, just maybe, you can get them to listen and actually learn something. All you have to do is channel your inner McGonagall. Easy enough. Strict, reserved, wise, a tough grader, but always there for a student in need. Or like your old Professor Cochrane, to use a more relevant example - you're teaching journalism, not transfiguration.

 

The only problem is you don't quite know how to interact with other faculty in that image. Reserved but helpful seems like a safe bet... Professional, but friendly. McGonagall made jokes and stuff with the other professors, right? She and Flitwick were friends. Anyway, you need to know everyone and what they're doing if you're going to have any kind of influence in the department.

 

Oh no, you'll have to volunteer for committees. You hate committees.

 

That could wait for another day, though. First you have to decide what to wear to the New Faculty Mixer tonight. It’s being held at a trendy bar on the edge of campus, and isn’t a strictly-speaking official event. The university has rented out the entire bar to keep out the general public (and thus the students) but there’s no agenda or official business planned to happen there - just an opportunity for everyone to meet. You’ve basically decided on a sundress-and-cardigan ensemble, casual enough for a bar environment and presentable enough for meeting the people you’re going to spend at least the next year in meetings with, but the problem has become _which_ dress and _which_ cardigan. Or maybe a shrug would work better, it'll probably be warm in the bar... This was the worst part of living by yourself, you didn't have anyone on hand to ask for an opinion. As you consider the growing pile of clothes you've tried on in the last thirty minutes, your phone chimes from the top of your dresser.

 

**Perry:** _I think I like the yellow dress the best, can you show me it with the black sweater?_

 

Thank god for Lola Perry. You'd sent her mirror selfies of four different combinations to ask her opinion, while she was getting ready for the same event on the other side of town. You change into the requested items and send her back a new picture, making a concerned face at the camera. Then you send her another without the cardigan, making a questioning face.

 

**You:** _I don't think the necklines work together, do you?_

**You:** _See, it's got a jewel neckline so it's hard to put with anything rounded._

 

While you wait for a response you pick through your jewelry box to find a necklace to wear. Okay, one step down. Yellow dress for 90% sure.

 

 **Perry:** _It's so cute by itself! Just wear it without a sweater. It's supposed to be warm out tonight._

**You:** _Ugh I am not aiming for cute! This is a professional function!_

**Perry:** _It's a party at a club, dear_.

**You:** _I know that but it's still with my future co-workers! I'm not trying to look cute I'm trying to look..._

 

You frown at your phone, trying to think what you _were_ aiming for. Professional? That would just make you seem like a square, and uptight was not part of the image you wanted. Serious and respectable yes, uptight no.

 

**You:** _I'm trying to look serious. Intimidating!_

**Perry:** _Intimidating is not exactly your strong suit, sweetie._

**Perry:** _Serious you could pull off, it's a nice cut. Very mature._

**Perry:** _LaFontaine insists I tell you they say “you look seriously hot" I'm sorry._

You snort at the image of Perry heaving a belabored sigh as she typed that in her phone, LaFontaine grinning obnoxiously and reading over her shoulder. Well, that settles it. You'd already put your hair up, pulled your favorite silver locket out of the tangle that is your jewelry box, and now the dress has been decided. All that was left was shoes and makeup, and you had fewer choices and less analysis paralysis with those. Maybe you'll be on time to this thing after all.

 

**You:** _Tell LaF I said thank you. ;)_

**You:** _You're the best!_

_\---_

You lean against the bar and try to look only half as bored as you feel. One of the sociology professors catches your eye and waves from a short distance away. What was her name again…? Ellen? Elise? Elsie! Yeah, Elsie. Eh. She was _good_ , but not _great_. You nod and raise your drink at her without changing your bored expression. Thankfully she takes the hint and goes back to her conversation after a brief frown. You hadn’t called her once over the summer, you’d think she would have taken that hint as well.

 

It’s about an hour into the party, so everyone is here who will be here. Soon mingling time will be over, the music will get turned up, and you’ll be able to slip away without being noticed. You’ve already said hello to the head of the communications department, and all the other department heads you could find, so your official obligations have been met. So far you've successfully avoided talking to the handful of women here you’ve slept with. You scan the crowd again to see if there’s anyone worth adding to the list, but you’re not really in the mood. Then you notice a cluster of gingers at a tall table further down the room and can’t stop the smirk that slides onto your face. Maybe you can harass Clifford and the Bobsey Twins until it's late enough to make an exit. They're always fun to annoy.

 

As you make your way through the crowd you try to get a clearer look at their table. There's a head of light brown hair among the gingers that you don't recognize, so you change course to perch against the half wall between the seating area and the dance floor until you can get a better view. You're close enough to hear them, but there's too many people milling around to see anything other than a flash of ginger hair every so often. You settle in and pretend to watch the clusters of people scattered around the dance floor while you wait for a better opportunity.

 

"He's a sweetheart but a little easy to manipulate," Curly Sue is explaining to the newbie, "So you shouldn't tell him all your secrets, you know? But if you ever need help he'll come running."

 

"How do you guys know all these things about everyone?" The newbie sounds impressed by Curly's encyclopedic knowledge of the office gossip. "Isn't this a _new_ faculty mixer?"

 

"Some of the people here are new, sure, but it's mostly people who've been here a few years like us," Clifford, ever helpful, chimes in. "It would be more accurate to call it the Faculty Without Tenure Mixer."

 

New Girl giggles at Clifford's lame joke and you roll your eyes. So she's into Amazons. You glance back over at their table and you catch sight of Clifford grinning like an idiot at Newbie (who is apparently wearing something with a yellow skirt) before someone walks into your view.

 

As you face forward again, an adjunct hipster tries to chat you up and rudely distracts you from your eavesdropping. It takes a few tries to convince him that you honestly couldn't care less about his photography or him. By the time he's accepted the fact he's barking up the wrong lesbian and gone away, the gingers have continued their guided tour of Silas faculty. You tune back in just in time to hear the end of a “Karnstein” and manage to not look their way.

 

"Yeah, there in the black top and purple jeans. She's in your department." Frankenstein is apparently taking point on this one, likely because they know you the best. You're not sure if that's a good thing. "Teaches rhetorical criticism and analysis. Almost never talks to people, almost always in her office, on all of the committees she can anyway because she doesn't have a choice."

 

"Doesn't have a choice?" Newbie sounds worried about what that could mean and you groan internally. Must they tell everyone about your family? You can practically feel the four sets of eyes on you, so you push off from your place on the wall to walk away. When you move, the eyes are suddenly gone and you put a clump of music professors between you and the dimwit squad to keep them off. You circle around the half-wall to approach their table, blending in with the crowd as best you can the whole way. You catch a high, offended squeak of "the _Dean_ " from Suzie Homemaker, so presumably someone brought up Mother in a negative light. It's the only light she ever comes up in, really.

 

"Oh come on," Xena scoffs as you get back in earshot, "there's always at least one rumor going around about her and some girl from her classes. Or one of the other faculty. Or both! Having family so high up has to help keep her out of trouble."

 

"There's never been any proof about any of the student affairs! And there's no rules against faculty seeing each other so long as there's not a power imbalance." Aw, look at Curly Sue defending you. And probably only partially defending her own relationship with the mad scientist.

 

You emerge from the crowd directly behind Lawrence to find all four of them leaning together over the tabletop, completely oblivious to your appearance. "And _anyway_ ," you drawl with one hand on your hip and a glare at Xena, "only _some_ of the rumors are true."

 

They all jump at the intrusion and look up at you with varying degrees of surprise and guilt. You shift your attention from Xena (unsurprisingly the least guilty) to New Girl (possibly the most guilty) across the table. You discover that in fact her entire dress is violently yellow, with tiny black polka dots, but you can't quite manage to be offended at it because _oh shit she's hot._ This was exactly why you wanted to scope out the terrain before you approached the table; it was much more difficult to get your eyes to focus on a girl's face the first time you see her, and not on how enticing her exposed collarbones are or how wonderfully her dress detailed the curve of her waist. That her chest was also emphasized by the gasp of surprise at your ( _perfect, by the way_ ) entrance was not helping in any way, or that her open neckline was showing off a smooth, inviting field of lightly tanned skin interrupted only by a silver necklace.

 

_No. No. **Focus** , Karnstein, her eyes are up there. We need to be an adult for a moment._

 

You offer your hand to shake and turn on the charm as best you can. _Eye contact, smirk, focus._ "I expect you have me at a disadvantage, sweetheart. No one's told me your rumors yet."

 

She stutters for a second before shaking your hand with some confidence. "I'm- uh- L-Laura. Laura Hollis. I don't think I have any rumors, I only just got here." She gives you a tight smile and looks to Curly for backup. "Unless you remember some from the last time we worked together?"

 

LaFontaine grins at her and raises their eyebrows. "I remember some good ones from when we were students here, do you want those?"

 

"I imagine those are a little outdated." You contain a snicker at the faintly terrified look on her face, and move to stand between her and LaFontaine. Maybe you can steal another stool from an adjacent table later.

 

"Also mostly untrue," she glares pointedly at LaFontaine. "As you should know."

 

"I didn't say they were _true_ , I just said they were _good_." They grin at her and take a swig from their glass. You hum at that and give Newbie Hollis another appraising look. She seems too tightly wound to get up to much trouble, but you would love to be proven wrong. Although, with the smirking glare she’s giving LaFontaine right now she doesn’t look quite so innocent. You’ll have to ask them for stories later. True ones.

 

"If you want to keep not having rumors, Laura, you'll avoid Elvira." _Clifford gets snippy amazingly fast, doesn't she?_ You're lucky she can't actually kill you with her glare because she's trying her best. "She's a rumor nexus."

 

"It is not my fault _some_ people are desperate to pretend they know the first thing about me." Her scowl is unaffected by your icy tone, so you turn your attention back to the cupcake. "The Silas News Network here are at least useful if you want to keep an eye on what's going around, as you may have noticed. English department agent who's friends with half the athletics faculty, math and sciences liaison, and the heart of the nursing school who has the administrative staff on speed dial. You'd almost think they did it on purpose."

 

"If only we had someone in the business school we'd be all set," Curly chirps with a grin.

 

Frankenstein nudges you with their elbow. "And a better spy in communications couldn't hurt."

 

“I do my best,” you respond airily. They roll their eyes at you and Curly barely holds back a laugh. “You know how I feel about talking to people. Thankfully I have _excellent_ hearing.”

 

“Laura? Do you think you can pick up her slack?” Curly winks at Newbie, ignoring Clifford’s newest scoff.

 

“I’ll try.” _Oh no._ Newbie's like a human ray of sunshine when she smiles. Your heart can't take it. “Although, I don’t know how well I can gossip if I’m going to be playing a McGonagall character.” _Wait. A McGonagall? This tiny ball of sunshine?_

 

“That would be an important part of the networking aspect, wouldn’t it? Talking to everyone?” _Oh gods Curly is in on it. They're serious._

 

“Oh, you’re right!” Newbie grins directly at you then, and you're glad you've gotten so good at keeping a neutral expression because _dear gods that smile_. "Maybe you can introduce me to people."

 

"Hmm, I don't know. Being seen in public with someone as sunny as you might put a dent in my dark and mysterious image." Clifford scoffs again, and you shoot her a glare before going back to smirking at Hollis. You lay a hand on her shoulder just to make Big Red seethe, and don't miss the way Hollis's eyes flicker wider at the contact. "Speaking of which, I should go before Xena makes a scene. I'll see you around, cutie."

 

Before anyone can object to your exit, you slip between two tall men and weave your way back toward the bar to close your tab. No matter what time it might be, you need to get out of here. The last time you were stunned by a girl’s smile like that ( _gods you were actually physically stunned, what are you, twelve?_ ) it didn’t end well for anyone. It takes a minute for the bartender to ring you up, and while you wait your phone chimes.

 

**Science Ginger:** _someday you have to tell me how your teleportation power works._

**You:** _Someday. Does Clifford have history with Newbie like you and Ginger Two?_

**Science Ginger:** _not as far as I know. why?_

_So Xena must be interested in her. Great. All the more reason to run away._ You sign your receipt and turn to leave right as something loud and thumping comes over the sound system. Perfect timing.

 **You:** _Nothing_. _Give the missus my regards._

_\---_

"How does she always vanish like that?" Perry wonders out loud as LaFontaine chuckles and picks up their phone, but you're still watching the spot where Carmilla disappeared.

 

"She's tiny and sneaky," Danny grumbles from behind you.

 

"She doesn't seem that tiny." You try to scan the crowd farther away, but you can't see very well past all the people. Maybe that's her over by the bar? That looks like the right hair, but you can't see much else. You probably should have paid attention to more than just her figure when LaFontaine first pointed her out to you. Looking for amazing hips with bright purple jeans isn't much help when all you can see is shoulders.

 

"Everyone forgets she's tiny because she acts so big and bad." Danny snorts and takes a sip of her drink. "A big brooding nuisance. But she's maybe two inches taller than you, tops."

 

"Are you calling me tiny?" You turn to Danny to give her an exaggerated offended look. She raises her eyebrows at you and tries not to laugh. You wouldn't really know if she succeeded because the background music changes to some remix with too much bass and the volume level in the room suddenly doubles.

 

"You _are_ tiny, Hollis." LaFontaine rolls their eyes at you, then waves their phone toward Perry. "Carmilla sends her regards, Perr."

 

"Mm. Tell her I say good night." Perry has to raise her voice to be heard, but she’s still the image of polite etiquette.

 

"Wait, good night? Is she leaving?" You drop off your stool to your feet before you really think about it, and might have sounded a little too panicked.

 

"Probably... She usually does when the techno starts. Is that bad?" LaFontaine is looking at you like you've lost your mind.

 

"Oh no. Stop. Come back." Danny deadpans. You'll have to find out what the history is there for them to hate each other so much. It must be something terrible, Danny had seemed so sweet until Carmilla came up. You'd been getting along great and hadn't even embarrassed yourself once, despite the fact that Danny is brain-stoppingly gorgeous.

 

"No, no, she's like the perfect connection! Daughter of the Dean, on all the committees. I could get personal introductions to basically everyone with one move, guys. I have to go and... Danny, give me your phone." She does, with a suspicious look. You call yourself and hang up after the Doctor Who theme starts in your purse. "Text me later, okay? It was really great meeting you."

 

She's grinning at you again as you hand her phone back, any earlier malice forgotten. "I will." You lose your train of thought for a second and grin back at her. _Wow, she's pretty._ Perry coughs awkwardly to bring you back to reality.

 

"Right. Yes. I better go catch up to her. I, uh, I'll see you later, LaF. Perry." You pick up your jacket and purse and push your way through the crowd toward the exit, which requires a constant stream of _excuse me_ and _I'm sorry._ How Carmilla could get from your table to the bar in just a few seconds is completely beyond you. Maybe Danny had a point about Carmilla being sneaky, but you actually were pretty tiny so this shouldn't be so hard. You should call Danny later and ask her if she has any more details about how exactly one sneaks, but she's super tall so it wouldn't really apply to her anywa--

 

_Oh god you just exchanged numbers with a gorgeous Amazon you met an hour ago._

It was a split-second impulse and you didn't even think about the repercussions and oh god does she think you're a giant dork now but she seemed pretty happy about it at the time and you told _her_ to text _you_ so it's totally in her control now which might be a good thing because there's no pressure on you and might be a terrible thing because _all you can do is wait_ but it's not like you can text her first to ask her if she thought you were too forward or if she even wanted to text you before you basically ordered her to like some cocky jerk but she said she would and if you then go and text her first after giving her all the agency in the exchange _then_ she's going to think you're a giant overeager dork because you _are_ a giant overeager dork and _wait, wait, wait._

 

You take a deep breath and let it out through your nose. _Okay. Let's deal with one unfairly attractive woman at a time. While the tall, sweet one has your number now the short, condescending, but well-connected one is getting away._  You take stock of where you are and find that you've made it to the front doors of the club, hopefully without doing too much damage to yourself or others while you were internally freaking out. No one's yelling at least, that's a good sign.

 

The air outside is cooler than the air in the club, and you take another deep breath of the fresh air. The sun has only just gone behind the mountains, so there's plenty of light to see a small woman with black curls and purple jeans fidgeting with her phone by the bus stop on the corner. You straighten out your posture to remind yourself that you're here on business. Strictly business. As you approach, she looks up out of the corner of her eyes before putting on the same detached smirk from before.

 

“Cupcake.” She slips her phone into her back pocket and leans against the signpost, and you’re almost sure she just checked you out. “I’m surprised to see you left the party so soon. I bet there’s still people you hadn’t heard every sordid detail about.”

 

“Right…” You grimace a little at the edge in her tone. So, you haven’t left the best first impression. “I’m sorry you walked into that conversation, that was totally out of line. I actually came out here to try and connect with you. Or, uh, get to know you better. One on one. Personally. As a. Uh. Person.” She’s trying to not show how amused she is by your stuttering over how to make this not sound like a terrible pick-up line, but she’s not doing a very good job of it.   “Not as, uh, the image LaF or Perry or Danny has of you. Especially Danny because well, _wow_.”

 

She snorts at that and nods, letting an actual smile crack through for a second. “Yeah. I'm not exactly on her good side. So, to make sure I understood all of... that. You want to find out more about me.” You nod, and there’s a sudden wickedness to her smirk. “ _Personally_ , or professionally?”

 

“Uh.” Part of your brain panics while the rest short-circuits. You’re fairly certain that responding to two women flirting with you in the same night is a bad idea. You have read that fanfic and it doesn’t end well. While getting to know Carmilla _very personally_ might sound like a fantastic idea with her looking at you like that it’s still not what you came out here for. “Not. Uh. Not _that_ personally. Professionally. Mostly. I mean.” You shake your head and she’s trying to not look amused again. So she’s winding you up on purpose. Great. Just great. “Ugh. We’re in the same department, right? Communications? So it would be nice if we could be friends.”

 

“There’s lots of faculty in our department, cutie. Some of them even like people, and get along with your new girlfriend.” _New girlfriend?_ “You could make friends with any of them, have the same benefits, and avoid making Xena jealous.” 

 

“Danny is not--” You roll your eyes before you remember that you are not, in fact, 19. “Look, LaF seems to like you and I trust their opinion over someone I just met. And you know everyone, so it would be a huge help to me to have your advice on how to navigate the campus politics.”

 

She tilts her head and raises her eyebrows at you. “So I would be _useful_ to you. And this has nothing to do with my relationship to Dean Morgan?” You hope the flash of panic at being called out directly didn’t show, but her scoff tells you it must have. Her posture becomes more closed off and she crosses her arms over her chest. “Of course. This is precisely why I don’t talk about it, but damned LaFontaine seems physically incapable of not telling anyone who holds still long enough.”

 

“It’s not just about that!” It was mostly about that. The rest was her access to basically all of the important people on campus through various committees and the Dean’s influence. Not exactly the best defense.

 

“It’s _fine_ , sweetheart, don’t hurt yourself.” Her tone, however, says exactly how fine it isn’t. There’s a mechanical hiss from up the street, and you both look up to see the bus stopped at a traffic light a block away. Carmilla waves to the driver and pulls her wallet out of a front pocket to find her pass. “It wouldn’t do you any good anyway, Maman and I don’t exactly… Get along. But I imagine they explained that as well.”

 

“They, uh. They did.” You fidget with your necklace and realize you’re acting like a toddler who was caught with their hand in the cookie jar, complete with staring at the ground. And you can’t even come up with anything to say for yourself. There’s an awkward silence and when the bus pulls up you think she’s about to climb on without saying anything more.

 

“Hey.” Her tone has lost the hard edge and you look up to see a sad half-smile. “It’s alright. Forget it ever happened. I’ll see you around campus?”

 

“Yeah.” You smile back at her. “See you around.” With a nod, she turns and goes up the few short steps. The driver gives you an expectant look, but when you shake your head he shrugs and closes the door.

 

As the bus pulls away, you realize he’d expected you to get on because you had taken his bus to get here. That was the route you needed to get home. You were so distracted by your… whatever that was with Carmilla that you didn’t even notice.

 

_Perfect. Juuust perfect._

 

You sigh to yourself and sit on a nearby bench to wait for the next one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self-editing is hard, y'all. 
> 
> Also remind me to never have 4+ people in a conversation ever ever again (it's gonna happen again).


	2. Negotiations

Your apartment building is nothing fancy, but that's not why you live here. You live here for the brick, art deco style exterior and the relatively cheap two-bed-plus-bonus-room apartment with a balcony and a nice view of campus. Unfortunately, part of what makes it cheap is that there's no washer or dryer in your apartment (there is a dishwasher, thank the gods - you would rather die than live without one ever again). Instead, you pay a monthly fee for a keycard that operates the machines in the laundry room downstairs.

 

The first time you tried to find the place just over two years ago, you hoped you had gone to the wrong floor or something when the elevator opened onto a long, empty hallway with white walls, a very few metal doors, and a lot of pipes running along the ceiling. If there wasn't so much light or it didn't look so well maintained you would have thought you accidentally walked into a horror movie. But no, you were on the right path and when you found the laundry room (at what must be the far end of the building) it looked like any other laundromat you'd ever been to, if a bit smaller. In the wall to your right was an array of industrial-sized dryers, the opposite wall covered in industrial-sized washers. In between stretched two rows of household-sized machines, with broad countertops at the end of each row for sorting and folding. There were a few plastic laundry baskets stacked on a waiting-room style chair in the corner and some folding chairs scattered around, and it seemed like the creepy hallway was just there to scare away the weak and cut down on maintenance costs.

 

Maybe having to leave the apartment to do your laundry wouldn't be so bad. It's not like you had to leave the building. And it gave you an excuse to not do laundry so often, anyway.

 

In the intervening years, you had seen other people here only a handful of times and none with any kind of regularity. Part of that was due to the building being inhabited mostly by students who had odd schedules and would rather do anything but laundry, and part of it was because _you_ had an odd schedule and would rather do anythingbut laundry. You make the trip only if you absolutely have to, with no routine or "regular" timeframe and once you'd learned how long each kind of machine took you'd load your things into a washer or two, set a timer on your phone, and go back upstairs. Then you'd come back shortly before the cycle finished, transfer your stuff into a dryer, and do the same thing. That way, you managed to avoid talking to any of the students for any length of time or, more often, avoid being bored out of your skull sitting down here alone for two hours. So far no one had messed with your stuff (as far as you could tell) but that was also part of why you timed it so you came back _before_ the machines were finished. You might hate humanity as a general rule, but you at least knew basic laundry room etiquette.

 

The Saturday after the New Faculty Mixer, you're finishing breakfast in your apartment just after eleven and working up the motivation to make the trip down. You're out of clean bras that aren't actively painful to wear, so you don't have much choice in the matter. Besides, the sooner you go, the sooner you're done and can waste the day without guilt. And it's a Saturday, the next-to-last one before classes start, so you could go out and find something fun to do tonight. Maybe even some _one_ fun to do.

 

Of course when you're at a party where everyone is guaranteed fair game you're not in the mood, but when you're at home and it's stupidly early and there's not another student-free opportunity in the near future, the mood suddenly arises. _Of course_.

 

You change into some jeans and an old t-shirt, find your laundry card, gather up two loads of laundry from around the apartment (mostly from your bedroom and the bathroom) ( _mostly_ ) and set the stack of baskets by your door. Just in case you do run into someone, you tame your hair and put on some eyeliner so you look more like a human and less like a zombie. Mornings will never be your thing, but the entire building doesn't need to know that.

 

You shuffle down to the laundry room and then wish that you'd actually put some effort into your face because the door is propped open and there's already someone inside. A petite, attractive, vaguely familiar someone with long, light brown hair that curls at the ends. She's sitting in one of the folding chairs with her laptop on the counter nearest the door, watching some tv show. The volume in her speakers is turned low, unfortunately, so she hears you come in and looks up. You’re struggling to place her in your memory, but she doesn't have the same problem.

 

" _Karnstein_?" Her face scrunches up a little in incredulity and everything clicks. _Oh dear gods it's Xena's cupcake from last night._

 

You hadn't recognized her with her hair down, in an army green tank top and dark jeans, but even without the bright clothes you remember the hilarious scrunched-up face she makes. You blink a few times to get your expression under control so you're not gawking at her like an idiot. "Newbie. We meet again."

 

"What-" she cuts off with a frown to pause her show and make the suspenseful music coming from it stop. "What are you doing here?"

 

"Take a guess." You set down your baskets in front of the first empty washer you come to and hold up your card for the machines. "I live here. I assume you do too?"

 

"Uh. Yeah, on the third floor. I just moved in a few months ago." She gives you a cautiously hopeful look. "I, uh, I guess that makes us neighbors?"

 

You can't help but smirk at how awkward she is. "I guess it does, though I’m up on the seventh floor. And I’ve been here a bit longer." There’s a loud buzz from one of the machines and you manage to not laugh when she jumps at the sound. She grabs her empty basket and goes over to it with a blush. You’re content to let the conversation end there and start sorting your stuff into two of the washers. There's not much for you to talk about with her, you’ve barely met. Anyway, you have a book waiting back upstairs - far away from the awkward ball of sunshine with the stunning smile.

 

She, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to know what to do with herself in the silence. Once she's moved her things from the washer that had buzzed into a dryer, she fidgets with her hands while trying to decide if she should go back to her laptop or try to start another conversation. Her internal debate takes long enough for you to sort everything, get both machines started, and take out your phone to set a timer.

 

"I'm still really sorry about last night." She blurts out suddenly and frowns at her hands, but you're not sure what exactly she's apologizing for. That second of surprised hesitation is all it takes for her to start pacing and launch into a rambling explanation while she gestures wildly. "I understand if you don't want to be friends - and now that I think about it you might not even know my name because I've never heard you use it? - but we are in the same department and we do have to work together, and that might be difficult if you hate me for trying to be manipulative and nosy and stuff and I'm not very good at it, obviously, or maybe you're just really good at deflecting it, or maybe not since we apparently drove you away from the party last night, but either way I'm a journalist to my soul and that's just kind of how we are, but you would know that since you're in Communications too even though it's not all journalism, obviously, but it is mostly--"

 

" _Hollis_." You were half tempted to just wait it out and see how long she could go, but she's already turning vaguely red. She stutters to a stop and looks up, more surprised and less kicked puppy than you were expecting. You try to put on a reassuring face and speak slowly as you move to stand in front of her. "I am very good with names, and I told you to forget it ever happened."

 

"I know, but that's just what people say when they're trying to be polite. No one ever means it." She's back to the scolded toddler routine, and you can't not laugh.

 

"Well, I mean it. If I held a grudge against everyone who had tried to gain influence through me my only friends on campus would be the janitors." It's an exaggeration, but not much of one. She half-heartedly laughs at it anyway, and you nudge her arm with a loose fist. "I was in a bad mood from the start last night. No one drove me anywhere, okay?"

 

"Okay," she echoes with a shrug. She looks up at you through her hair, cautious and still being as small as she can. She really should not be this adorable when she's acting so childish. "So... We can start over?"

 

"Clean slate," you nod, and make a dismissive gesture. "Like yesterday never happened."

 

"Okay. Good." She straightens out her posture and pushes her hair back with one hand over the top of her head. It's a gesture that you make all the time and you vaguely wonder if it looks half as attractive on you. She sighs out a deep breath before turning on the full brightness of that smile ( _christ_ , _keep it **together** , Karnstein_) and offers her hand for you to shake. "So. I'm Laura Hollis. New professor at Silas for journalism. It's a pleasure to meet you."

 

You didn't think about starting the slate _that_ clean, but alright. You shake her hand and put on your most charming crooked smile. "Carmilla Karnstein, professor of critical analysis. The pleasure's all mine." Part of you wants to test her like you do most of the women you meet - flirt to see how she reacts, push and see if she pulls - but that is possibly the worst idea if you're going to keep your distance from this one. You already tested her somewhat last night to annoy Clifford and got to see the newbie turn a nice shade of red - she's practically guaranteed to pull. So, small talk. Polite guest mode, you're good at that one. "What were you watching? It sounded like I walked in on something intense."

 

“Oh, I was just rewatching Agent Carter for the hundredth time. I’m procrastinating on making my syllabuses," she admits with a sheepish grin. “I think I'm on the third episode, if you wanted to join me?”

 

“No thanks, I wouldn’t know what was going on. All I know about Agent Carter is what I’ve picked up from Tumblr and that’s not exactly a reliable source.” She looks aghast at the revelation.

 

“You haven’t seen--?" You shake your head with a shrug and she makes an offended noise. "I don't know if we can be friends, then. That must be illegal. It's been finished for like 6 months." Another shrug, another offended scoff. "There's only 8 episodes!"

 

"Ah, so I haven't missed much," You grin.

 

"What." She's gaping at you, but you're pretty sure she's also struggling not to laugh. "No, no we can't be friends."

 

"And we had such a strong bond. Truly, I am heartbroken." She makes a face at you, but the edges of her mouth are still smiling. You actually _could_ be friends, if she can roll with your sarcasm this well after half a conversation. It's like LaFontaine deciding that you were going to be their friend whether you liked it or not. (After the initial shock, it turned out you liked it - they have your same dry and morbid sense of humor. And their wife isn't terrible company, either.) Which proves an interesting contrast to how easily you can get on Clifford's nerves. Actually, thinking of the gingers reminds you of your last conversation with them. "Although..."

 

The cupcake raises her eyebrows at your trailing off. "Reconsidering your blasphemy?"

 

"No, my disdain for Marvel's film endeavors is still solidly in place." She scoffs at that, but you wave her off. "I think you're right, though, we can't be friends."

 

"Well, of course I'm ri-- Wait, what?"

 

"The ginger squad said you want to build a McGonagall image on campus, yes?" _Which is ridiculous,_ you want to say, but you've heard worse ideas _._ She nods, clearly still confused. "While I will never admit I said this, Xena had a point. No one in our department will take you seriously if you're associated with me."

 

"Oh come on." She waves her hands dismissively, "So you have a reputation with women, that's hardly something that should be a big deal. It's the twenty-first century."

 

You let out a snicker that _that's_ where her mind went first. At least she actually doesn't seem to care, but does she so readily associate you with casual sex? "No, cutie, I didn't mean that part." You hoist yourself onto the counter next to her computer and cross your legs with a shrug. "I meant the part where I supposedly only have a professorship because my mother is the Dean; either because I never deserved one in the first place or because I would otherwise have been chased away by the scandals and terrible performance reviews by now." Your smirking poker face is firmly in place, but your voice was too flat to really sell the disaffected attitude you were aiming for.

 

"Not that you're bitter," Hollis adds as she returns to the folding chair. She might have been distracted by checking out your legs, but she still caught the change in your tone. She's a surprisingly perceptive interviewer.

 

"Not that I'm bitter," you agree, giving up on the indifferent front and picking at your nails with a scowl. "As usual, very little of it is true. My performance reviews are _fantastic_ , actually, but I do put in effort to maintain the general mysterious slacker image. People expect less from you if they think you aren't worth half a damn. Much harder to disappoint that way."

 

"So what you're saying is we can't be friends because I might damage your Gilderoy Lockhart image." _Did she just._ You lift your scowl from your nails to her face, where she's smirking up at you from her chair.

 

"I'm going to ignore the implications of that reference," you try to say in your most intimidating growl, but it may have not worked because now she's grinning like she's won.

 

"But you did understand them," she points out. She's just this side of gloating.

 

"I did. However, Remus would be a much better fit since I am not _actually_ a womanizing _fraud_ but that is beside the point." She rolls her eyes at your choice, but the options were fairly limited. There's not a lot of fictional professors that you would relate to who aren't horrible people, especially not within Harry Potter. Anyway, you were trying to make a point. You were. And then the cupcake derailed the bitter train of thought you'd been on and blew past your defenses. Gods, this is why she looks like she won, she completely has. " _My point is_ if you want to be seen as serious and respectable we can't be friends."

 

"Hmm." She tilts her head and thinks about it with a serious look on her face. You're starting to worry that your bid to keep some distance between you might be _too_ effective before a possibly manic gleam comes into her eyes. "You may be right. We _are_ going for opposite things in our images. We have to _hate_ each other. _It'll be perfect._ " She looks up at you with a (yes, definitely manic) grin. She's obviously expecting you to agree, but you have no idea what you'd be agreeing to.

 

"I'm afraid you've lost me." She rolls her eyes and starts drawing out her plan in the air.

 

“The image that you want to have on campus and the image that I want to have on campus are natural enemies. So, it would reinforce both images if we pretend to hate each other. Like you said, we can’t be friends. That would be suspicious. Instead we act like the enemies everyone expects us to be. And _then_ no one will know that we’re actually working together.” She turns her attention back to you, expecting a response. You frown in confusion.

 

“Working together on what, exactly?”

 

“I don’t know. Whatever we want? I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” She pushes her hair back again and scratches at her scalp in thought. _Ugh, she has to stop doing that._ “I mean, my goal long term is to be the head of the department and build an internationally renowned journalism program, but that’s decades away.” You snort at how casually she mentions her plan for world domination.

 

“Go big or go home, huh?”

 

“Hey, that’s what dreams are for.” Her grin is less manic now, but she’s still thinking of a scheme. “In the meantime, I guess we just try to gain some influence. What’s your goal?”

 

You shrug. “Stay alive and employed? Get tenure, eventually retire with a nice stipend?”

 

“That’s the opposite of a goal, Carmilla,” she chides with a frown and you can’t help but laugh.

 

“That’s exactly what Perry said. And my actual mother, but she wasn’t that nice about it.” She crosses her arms and makes a more disapproving frown. With a resigned sigh, you try to fill in some blanks so she’ll stop looking at you like that. “I don’t know, cupcake, I’m just not the ambitious type. Of the professions Maman tried to force me into over the years, teaching was the only one I didn’t hate. Sometimes I even enjoy it. So, I figure I’ll hang on to this job until they force me out at age 80 and then I don’t have to listen to Mother complain all the time. My life has always been easiest when I just stay out of her way.”

 

The cupcake shakes her head, exasperated. “Alright. I guess that works for now. When you come up with a better goal, let me know.”

 

“You’ll be waiting a long time.” You shift how you’re sitting to point your knees away from her and deflect the conversation away from your life again. “If we’re going to hate each other on Monday, then I suppose I should tell you now about who’s who. Can't have you going into all the division meetings this week blind, gods only know who you'd make friends with.”

 

She perks up like you've just told her Christmas came early this year. "Really?" You give her a disinterested shrug, and she bursts forward, scrambling to open a new document on her laptop. "Oh, this is going to be great! Hang on, hang on, let me take some notes."

 

Why not, right? It could be fun. A good game of Spy Vs Spy might make the semester go by a little faster. The cupcake gets her document open and titled and settles in like she's about to take dictation. "First of all, you'll have to deal with Spielsdorf every day..."

 

\---

 

You're really not sure what happened between Laura and Carmilla.

 

When they'd first met on Friday night, Carmilla had been her usual self for any time Danny's within ten meters of her: biting and sarcastic. Laura had been _her_ usual self for every day: sunny and awkward. Somehow, between then and the next time you see them together (the following Tuesday), they started bickering like Carmilla and Danny used to do before they stopped speaking to each other. While not a big reach for Carmilla, it is weird for Laura - you'd only known her to be like this with people who really _earned_ her wrath. Carmilla is a jerk to essentially everyone, but once you get past the moodiness and the sarcasm she’s a complete pushover. If you were nice to her, _persistently_ so, then she'd be nice to you. More than once she's been your support system when you've had a falling out with Perry, and you're well acquainted with her couch. She's not half as bad as she pretends to be, and even if she _were_ you have no idea how she could have done this thorough a job of it in such a short time. Every time you see them in the same room they're either arguing about something or pointedly ignoring each other. You can only imagine how their department meetings are going.

 

(That isn’t true. You had in fact heard, at length, about how much of a mocking dismissive asshole Carmilla was any time Laura made a suggestion and if Carmilla had rolled her eyes _one more time_ … Carmilla, on the other hand, simply said the Communications department meetings have never been more _interesting_ , and you know exactly what that means coming from her.)

 

But then, the Friday before classes start, you begin to wonder if there's something bigger going on.

 

It's an overcast day outside and you’re walking across the north quad with Laura, on the way to meet Perry and Danny for lunch. There's a buzz of activity in the air as students are still moving in, getting books, learning their way around, and reconnecting with friends from last semester. On the sidewalk you find Carmilla, who is texting and walking the other way. She looks up when you call out a _hey Carm_ and she gives you a lazy wave. Then she sees who you're with, and you can practically see her shields coming up as she slouches into a swagger. If she weren’t wearing her sunglasses, you’re sure there would be a pretty epic death glare. Next to you, Laura's drawing herself up to her full size and copying Perry's stern mother mode (tightly clasped hands and all) as she glances around the busy quad. Her glare is fully visible, as well as the tight frown.

 

So this should be good.

 

"Hey, Frankenstein," Carmilla smirks when she's close enough for her drawl to be easily heard. "Taking the monster for a walk?"

 

"Karnstein." Laura's looking down her nose at Carmilla, and you're surprised how well she can actually pull off the imposing look. "You don't have to be intolerable _all_ the time, you know."

 

"Oh, I know. I do sleep occasionally." Laura rolls her eyes, and Carmilla continues with a mocking grin. "I thought I had made myself clear on Saturday that this is just what you get to deal with around here. I'm only living up to _expectations_ , cutie."

 

Laura makes a frustrated huff and you're stuck between Carmilla’s cold smirk and Laura's pinched scowl as they glare each other down. After a few awkward seconds (well, awkward for _you -_ this could just be some twisted mating ritual for _them_ ) what Carmilla actually said registers in your brain.

 

"Wait. Saturday?" They both blink and glance at you then back to each other and _there is definitely something going on between them holy shit._ "Karnstein have you made a new friend and you aren't telling me? I won't be mad, we're not exclusive, you know--"

 

" _Gods_ no," Carmilla snaps, cutting off your joke. She hesitates for a second and exchanges another glance with Laura that you can't quite decipher. _What happened this weekend?_ "We- we happened to be at the same meeting and may have exchanged a few words."

 

You narrow your eyes at her suspiciously. "A meeting. On a Saturday."

 

"Yeah," Laura jumps in. She’s a better liar than Carmilla but that is a _very_ low bar. "Communications has a lot of functions on the weekends for projects and such to accommodate the professors’ schedules."

 

"A Saturday _before classes even start_?" You raise an eyebrow at Laura and the stern front is crumbling rapidly, but Carmilla steps in to save her just before you expect her to crack.

 

"I realize it may be impossible to get your nerds to do anything that isn't a 'game night’ on the weekends, but some of us actually have a work ethic." Carmilla always turns up her nose at invitations to your and Perry's game nights, because she obviously hates fun. It never stops you from trying again. She has to give in someday. There is one part of her lie that she actually sounds confident in, but it's totally implausible.

 

" _You_ have a work ethic? Really?" She should know better. You almost feel bad for pointing it out, but if two of your closest friends are sneaking around that's something you need to know. She rolls her eyes with a weary sigh.

 

"Fine. A work ethic _or_ an overbearing mother with high expectations and access to everyone's Outlook calendars." Laura snickers meanly at Carmilla’s misfortune, while you smirk and nod. Points for effort, that was much better. She might learn yet.

 

"Ok, _that_ I might buy. The Dean is exactly the kind of person to expect attendance at Saturday meetings." Carmilla’s phone chirps and she glances at the text before looking around the quad. After a few seconds she finds who she was looking for, one of the young new adjuncts from the chemistry department. The adjunct ( _her name might be Dana? There are so many chemistry teachers you can’t keep them all straight_ ) waves with her phone, winks at Carmilla, then turns to saunter away. Carmilla’s phone chirps again and this text must be more explicit than the first one because her eyebrows raise as she reads it. She clears her throat and sends a short reply before she pockets her phone.

 

"Well, this was fun. Now if you'll both excuse me, I have better things to do." She nods to you and to Laura, then turns to rush after Dana.

 

She doesn't _run_ exactly, but there is definitely more haste than you generally see her use. Score one for Dana.

 

No, wait. There's data that doesn't fit here. You were fairly certain that Broody and Tiny have a thing going on, but now Broody is charging off after a bit of action _in front of Tiny._ Carmilla has never been subtle about her 'extracurricular’ activities, but she can't have made a habit of rubbing it in like that. She's not dead yet.

 

When you hazard a glance at your companion, Laura is shaking her head with an amused-but-still-totally-judging look. (You're very good at spotting that look. You get it at least once a day, whether at home or on campus.) So, your initial hypothesis that Laura has joined Carmilla’s… _Study Buddies_ seems to have been disproven. Unless Laura is poly or something, of course, but even then you'd expect to see _some_ kind of jealousy since the relationship is so new. And she’s never mentioned anything about her preferred relationship structures so you’ve always just assumed... _Hmm_.

 

For now, you'll have to accept the null hypothesis: Laura and Carmilla are not at each other's throats because they slept together. There is _something_ going on between them, some reason they're bickering like they hate each other while communicating via eyebrows, but it at least isn't sex.

 

 

So far.

 

As you arrive at the caf, you're reminded of the other reason Laura and Carmilla being in an open relationship is unlikely: Danny Lawrence. Somehow you just cannot imagine her being alright with sharing, and what Danny wants seems to be very relevant to Laura's interests.

 

Really, _Danny_ seems relevant to Laura's interests.

 

The Tallest is already at a table with Perry when you arrive, and she stands to catch your attention and wave you over. Laura's stern facade drops almost immediately when she sees Danny and she's back to the fumbling, grinning mess she was on Friday, up until she asked Danny for her number. You know, _right before she went charging off after Carmilla._

 

God, you really are no good at understanding people.

 

Okay, setting Carmilla aside, there is a much higher probability of something going on between Laura and Danny. Anyone could see that they're both interested, even you. Add to that the fact that they've been having lunch together every day this week (with or without you and Perry) and texting intermittently (Laura could pretend she was paying attention to your conversations but you didn't miss the _Lawrence_ label at the top of her screen and the goofy grin on her face) and there could very well already be _a lot_ of _somethings_ going on between Laura and Danny. You would hope that if anything had actually happened they would be less awkward and bashful at each other, but you never know.

 

Perry, ever polite, asked how Laura's day had gone so far and triggered the same rant you'd walked into ten minutes ago. There was a meeting of the Journalism professors about their course requirements and there had been changes made to all the boilerplate about the objectives for each class in the series and could everyone please update their syllabus to show these changes but Laura already had a bunch of hers printed and why couldn't they have said anything about this at the beginning of the week or any of the _other_ meetings they've had and one of them joked about her being "over eager” when she was just trying to be prepared and on and on. Danny said almost the same thing you did, why would Laura print copies of the syllabus instead of just emailing it to all her students and saving the paper, and you tuned out of the conversation. It wasn't any better in reruns.

 

Through the rest of lunch, as you watch Danny and Laura try to not flirt too hard with so many people around, you can't help but wonder if maybe there _was_ actually a meeting on Saturday. It doesn't make sense, but neither does the idea of Laura sneaking around with Carmilla (who she _acts_ likeshe can barely stand) when she's so obviously crushing on Danny (who _doesn't_ antagonize her at every turn).

 

You make a note to keep an eye on all three of them - as an impartial observer, of course. Someone has to be a step ahead around here.

 

\---

 

Once you've survived the week of curriculum discussions and team building exercises, teaching at Silas is surprisingly similar to teaching anywhere else. That there is such a large alchemyclub on campus is a bit unusual, but they almost never blow up anything and you can mostly forget they're there. So far the hardass image seems to be working well. You put enough rules in the syllabus about strict due dates and forbidding distractions during class that your students are taking you seriously. If any of them are calling you _tiny_ or _cute,_ it's at least not where you can hear them. You've managed to not completely dork out about anything in class, which probably helps a lot. It's a very welcome change from how students treated you before, but you do worry they might be _too_ afraid of you. You'll have to start working some jokes into your lectures later on in the semester. Dry ones, of course, but that shouldn't be too hard.

 

You build yourself a routine, some of which follows the same general schedule you had at the last college. Each morning you take the early bus from your apartment to the Communications building and have an office hour or two (depending on the day) before you teach your first class. When you come back, you check in with Betty at the main desk for any messages or gossip she might have for you. (Using Carmilla’s advice, it is disturbingly easy to get information out of 'Ms. Spielsdorf’ and you’re careful with what information you give her in return for the same reason.) Check your emails, teach another class, then you have lunch with Danny and/or LaFontaine, a third class or more office hours (depending on the day), a public fight with Carmilla, a stop by the gym, then back on the bus home. When exactly the “be a dick to Karnstein” part of your day happens varies, though, since it’s just whenever you happen to run into each other. You’d offered to schedule a time for it, but the look she gave you said that might be a bad idea. And really, when you think about it, it would be; if it was too predictable, people would get suspicious. That’s probably not what _her_ objection to the idea actually was, but that’s what you’re telling yourself anyway.

 

Things get added into your schedule as the weeks progress: Wednesdays you go to Pie Night with Danny, Fridays there’s game night or movie night at LaFontaine and Perry’s house (sometimes also with Danny), and then Saturday and Sunday you spend grading assignments and fine-tuning your presentations for the next week. Saturday morning is also when you do laundry, but that's something you’ve had scheduled since you were still a student and figured out that scheduling laundry day meant it was more likely to _actually_ _happen_. It's also the only part of the week where you can drop the act and just be a normal person to Carmilla.

 

You start to look forward to it, the Saturday “meetings” in the laundry room. There's never anyone else here, so you can have actual conversations with her and not just bicker. You think no one else is ever in the laundry room because the hallway you have to walk down to get there is ominously long and _super_ creepy, but it beats having to walk three blocks to the nearest laundromat. And, well, the company here is much more engaging.

 

Carmilla arrives within a few minutes of you most weeks and _you’re_ consistently coming down at 10:30 on purpose but you wonder if she is too. She must be. She wasn’t here at all the first couple months you lived here, then arrived when you were halfway done the first time, so that she's suddenly here at the same time every week is strange. Not that you're complaining, of course, it brings the number of people at Silas you would say you're close with up to four. But you are curious as to _why_ she adopted your schedule without saying anything about it, or even asking what your schedule was. You want to tell yourself that it's so you can strategize in your plan to fool everyone on campus that you're really archnemeses and take the system over from the inside, but you're pretty sure Carmilla is just humoring you and most of the time you talk about everything except that. She'll probably stop playing along once she gets bored of it, or bored of _you_ , but for now it gives you a reason to hope she'll be back next week. You always bring down your laptop or some grading to do just in case she doesn't appear, but these days you hardly get anything done down here that isn't directly Carmilla-related. You can't really consider that a bad thing.

 

Just over a month into the semester you're in the middle of an argument about the merits of linguistic analyses of memes (you’d shown her one you especially liked on your phone and she’d laughed it off, so you had to explain how wrong she was) when your dryer finishes. Instead of dumping your things in a basket to go back up to your apartment, you dump them on one of the wide counters and start folding to give yourself an excuse to stay. A few minutes later her dryer finishes, and you expect her to wrap up the point she’s making ( _okay, it's a fine analysis but really, **this** is the topic they choose? **Breadsticks**?_ ) and leave. Instead, she brings her things around to the other side of the counter and starts folding as well. Which is definitely new, and she's definitely doing it for the same reason you are - an excuse to spend more time together.

 

You try not to read too much into it and instead tell yourself it’s just because she’s stubborn and doesn’t want to accept that ' _some people have too much time on their hands’_ is not a valid reason to deride quality academic discourse. It’s not that you’re becoming friends or anything.

 

The folding becomes part of your routines from then on.

 

Somewhere in the second month of your weird acquaintanceship you decide to ask her about something that’s been bothering you. You're both on the folding phase of the morning, so if this backfires spectacularly at least it won't be that long before you can run away. While you were telling a funny story about Danny and one of her students who had interrupted your lunch together the day before, Carmilla mostly kept her comments to herself and nodded along politely. If you hadn't been paying attention to her face, you might not have seen the not-even-thinly-veiled disdain that she always wore when Danny was on her mind. Their relationship seems to _actually be_ what you and Carmilla _pretend_ to be. Which makes almost no sense because Danny is sweet and smart and friendly, while Carmilla is an intelligent giant softie hiding beneath a grumpy exterior.

 

You _need_ to know what happened. You can't just ignore a mystery like this, it's been two months and you haven't asked either of them _anything_ about it and it's _killing_ you and Carmilla seems to have less… Intense feelings on the matter, so it would make the most sense to ask her. Right. You can do it. So you put on your best nonchalant voice and ask, “What's the deal with you and Danny, anyway? Bad breakup?”

 

She snorts at the idea and raises an eyebrow at you in judgement. “ _That_ ’s your first guess?” You shrug and she shakes her head, resuming her search for a matching sock. “No. That is a mountain I have not deigned to climb.”

 

“ _Deigned_?” She’s trying to deflect the question, you know she is, and you can’t help the urge to give her a hard time about it. “From _you_ , reknowned for chasing any attractive queer women who're not in your classes?”

 

“Hey. Hey. I do _have_ taste, you know.” She might actually be offended, and has stopped pretending to fold things so she can put one hand on her hip and accusingly point at you with the other. “You can’t go around judging people for their image, remember? You’re practically assumed to be straight around campus since you’re so uptight all the time, and we both know how wildly wrong that is. As well as anyone who's seen you pining after the bean pole in question.”

 

You scoff at the idea that you could be mistaken for straight, but refuse to take the bait. Instead, you lay out more bait for her. If you can get her vexed enough, she's bound to let something slip. Or storm out of the room, that's always an option with her. “Alright, then what’s the real story? If I’m so wrong and you two didn’t have some wild one night stand that ended badly?” She just raises her eyebrows at you again, so you keep going. “A _string_ of wild one night stands that ended badly?”

 

She huffs out an irritated sigh. “Dear gods, I considered it _once_ , over a decade ago. And then she started _talking_ and that was the end of that. Sporty Spice in Shining Armor was not exactly my _thing_ , then or now.” She’s still glaring at you like she’s looking for a fight, but you manage to not laugh at her admission. Much. She rolls her eyes at your expectant expression and gives in. The giant softie. “We were roommates for a blessedly short time when we were freshmen here at Silas. Things were tense but tolerable for a few months, then I may-or-may-not-have-accidentally-slept-with-her-girlfriend, she joined the Summer Society and moved into their house. She has hated me ever since and I have returned the favor, _the end_.”

 

“Wait, wait.” You hold up a hand in a ‘stop’ gesture, your laundry completely forgotten. You can’t keep from laughing at how she rushed through the interesting part of the story, like she was hoping you wouldn’t catch it. “How do you _accidentally_ sleep with someone’s girlfriend?”

 

She crosses her arms and looks anywhere but at you. “Well, Xena never told me anything about her love life, and… _Apparently_ she and I have the same taste in women.”

 

“So... You picked up a girl at a party or something, just because you thought she was cute.” She’s trying to glare a hole into the machine next to her, but doesn’t say you’re wrong. “And then she turned out to be Danny’s girl.” Her eyes shift to her hands as she taps the countertop nervously with all of her fingertips. Still no objections. _Oh no it can’t be, that would be too perfect_. “Would I be correct in assuming she caught you _with_ said girl inyour _shared dorm_?”

 

She grimaces for a second or two before she answers, trying to work up her nerve or deciding how to say it. “Technically.” She glances up at you and you make a ‘go on’ gesture, frowning to keep a straight face. She huffs again and returns her attention to her hands. “She came back after, while we were, uh. Sleeping it off. So. Only certain values of _caught_ apply.”

 

“I _see_ ,” you say, trying to sound stern. Carmilla glances up at you again, and you would swear she looks like she’s afraid of your reaction or like she’s in trouble, but you’re grinning so broadly your face kind of hurts. You lost control of your expression and started silently laughing somewhere around _after_. “I mean, I see why she would be angry enough to move out, but I don’t see why you would still be like this with each other years later over one girl.”

 

“It kind of happened more than once?” She offers with another grimace.

 

Your jaw drops. “ _No_.”

 

She snorts at your reaction, and loses some of the about-to-be-grounded teenager act. “Not… Not while we were in the same dorm. I don’t think. But, I mean… We have _very similar_ taste, okay? And there were only so many parties on a given night and I may have been mostly-accidentally picking up the same girls Clifford was trying to pick up. At least once a semester or so. For our entire educations.”

 

You cover your face with your hands and laugh. This is the funniest possible reason for their feud, and it just keeps getting better. “Oh my god _,_ you are _such_ anasshole!”

 

“ _Was_ such an asshole! Past tense!” She’s laughing too, even as she tries to defend herself. “I haven’t stolen a girl out from under her in _years_. I think. I actively try not to.”

 

“Actively?” You take a deep breath to try and calm down. She nods, and mostly manages to put on a straight face. “What, so if she’s interested in a girl you run the other way or something?”

 

“Or something,” she mutters with a shrug, and turns back to her laundry. You shake your head at her and go back to work on yours as well, still grinning. That is not the kind of story that happens to people in real life, that’s something you read about on Tumblr and laugh. You want to ask if Danny ever did the same thing, picked up a girl Carmilla was pursuing, but you get the feeling she would have mentioned that as part of her defense if it had happened. Or if she _knew_ it happened, more importantly. She isn't the type to only have one target on her radar at a time, so she may not have even noticed any losses. You're wondering how much more you can ask without her getting annoyed enough to leave when she asks without looking up, “What’s the deal with _you_ and Clifford, by the way?”

 

“ _Me_ and Danny?” She hums an agreement, still not looking at you. You’re not sure why she’s asking, you get along great with Danny. “I don’t know. We’re friends? We have lunch sometimes? There’s not really a deal.”

 

“So, just friends,” she adds carefully.

 

“Well, yeah.” As far as you know, that is. Sure you flirt with Danny a lot and sometimes she flirts back, but she's never made any kind of moves. She's never asked you out to anything other than lunch or Pie Night, which is _so_ not a date. And you don't have the courage to ask Danny out either, since she is _way_ too hot for you to have a chance. Probably. Maybe. You're also kind of terrified by the thought of asking a girl out, especially when her flirting is so inconsistent. Aaaand Carmilla is making her _are you really serious right now_ face at you. “What?”

 

“So there’s no reason she trails after you like a giant lost puppy every time she sees you around campus?”

 

“She does not." Another look from Carmilla, and you huff at her in return. "It is perfectly normal to start a conversation and walk with your friends when you see them in public.” You’ve walked-and-talked with LaFontaine and Perry too, you just see Danny more often. You have classes in adjacent buildings. That's all.

 

“Mmhmm. And there’s no reason why she will drop basically anything to make those little lunch dates of yours?” The look on her face says she’s winning but you frown at her in annoyance.

 

"It's polite to keep appointments." It sounds like a lame defense even to you, but still. It's true. Like Carmilla would know anything about being polite.

 

"And how many of these appointments have there been? And have there been any..." she leans over the counter on her palms and raises her eyebrows suggestively, " _Dinner_ appointments?"

 

"I don't know how many times we've had lunch. Some." Most weekdays you have lunch with Danny, actually. Carmilla, however, does not need to know that. "As for dinner, no. No there hasn't been any."

 

"Really? Because you sound awfully defensive about that." She’s couldn't be more smug if she tried, but she is so very wrong. You cross your arms and glare at her.

 

"Pie Nights do not _count_."

 

She snorts. Actually snorts. To your face. "Pie Night? In the caf?" You nod once and she laughs as she stands straight again. "Gods, Lawrence has not changed one bit."

 

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" Carmilla’s expression falls slightly at the edge in your tone, and only then do you notice that you've shifted into the way you stand when you're fighting with her on campus: shoulders drawn back, arms crossed, making the most you can of your 5'2" of height.

 

"Nothing. Well, nothing about you." You consciously try to relax your posture as her tone changes to something more cautious. _Reel it in, Hollis, you scared her_. You're not on campus, she's not actually _trying_ to get under your skin. This is private Carmilla, the nice one, the one you like. She teases plenty, but she’s never tried to _hurt_. "It's just, she did the same thing as a student too. Drawn out quasi-courtships, mostly comprised of Pie Night pies and bland chivalry. I never understood the appeal, but that's just how she operated. It must be effective."

 

"Oh." You nod, and deflate a bit at the idea _Carmilla_ was the first to say Danny is 'courting’ you, and not _Danny_. Not even LaFontaine and Perry, who _actually spend time with you and Danny_ said anything. No, it had to be Carmilla, who avoids being in the same room as Danny whenever possible and only ever acknowledges you as the prelude to an argument or when you’re the only people in the basement of your apartment building. And she had to say it like it was so weird that you'd fallen for that trick. She hasn’t said anything else and the silence is getting uncomfortably long while she carefully watches your reaction. That’s what she’s always doing, really: watching and waiting and analyzing. Of course it is, she _teaches_ analysis for crying out loud, but now you’re not sure if you like her quietly analyzing you with that stupid impassive mask on her face. You drop the last few things into your basket and pick it up to flee this situation. And then, knowing you, you’ll go eat too much ice cream and send some poorly thought out texts to Danny. "Well. I'll, uh. I'll see you Monday."

 

"Cupcake--?" You're out the door before Carmilla can say anything else, and headed down the long hallway to the elevators. Of course _you_ were too dense to notice ( _too insecure to admit_ ) that maybe there really was something going on. That maybe there was a reason Danny ( _gorgeous Amazon warrior Danny_ ) was spending so much of her time with you and was always so sweet and kind and, well, chivalrous. You’re not even sure why you're upset about it, you should be glad, you _want_ there to be something going on… But you also didn't want to be the last one to know. Has Danny been waiting for _you_ to make the first move? Does she think you're not interested because you haven't said anything yet? You hit the call button for the elevator possibly a dozen times and try to think how to word those bad-idea texts once you get somewhere that actually has cell signal. _What the hell are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?_ would get the point across but might come off too aggressive...

 

"Laura, wait." Carmilla has caught up and the elevator isn’t here yet. Perfect. You turn toward her just as it occurs to you that she’s never actually used your given name before. She should say it again, just to make sure you didn't imagine it.  “Tell me, what’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing.” You can feel yourself sulking, and it takes a considerable effort to look directly at her face. She’s dropped the impassive act, and now she’s the very image of concern.The only time she’s looked more worried was the time you’d bashed your head climbing back out of a dryer.

 

“There’s obviously something.” She shifts her stuff onto one hip and gently puts her other hand on your arm, just below your shoulder. You’re suddenly very grateful you wore a hoodie today and frown at her hand, but you don’t shift away. “I’m sorry. I guess I hit a nerve?”

 

“I guess,” you shrug and echo back. It seems there’s a lot of echoes in your conversations with Carmilla. “I’m sorry, too. I lost my temper.”

 

“It’s alright.” The elevator dings distantly and the screen over the metal door claims it’s stopped on the floor above. Carmilla taps her fingers against your arm to pull your attention back to her. She gives you a lopsided smile. “Hey, tell you what. I'll buy you lunch, and we can talk about whatever has you so stressed out. Or, y’know, literally anything else." You huff out a laugh, and can't help but smile back at her.

 

"Sure. But it has to be delivery, I have no intention of leaving this building today."

 

"That can be arranged." There's another ding and the elevator doors open. She steps in first and presses the button for her floor, the seventh, before leaning against the wall to partially block the panel. She grins a little smugly when you join her in the elevator and don't bother to try and press the button for your own floor. Your apartment is in no state for company, why wouldn't you accept the invitation to hers? And besides, never in your life has a girl so smoothly invited you to her place - even if it was just to hang out. "How do you feel about Thai food? There's a great place a few blocks away that delivers here."

 

Lunch together becomes part of your routines from then on. You completely forget to text Danny the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The breadstick meme analysis is real, btw.  
> http://tehzii.tumblr.com/post/124249554365/margotkim-tedathon-margotkim-ah-i-see  
> and supporting document http://tehzii.tumblr.com/post/124686962995/tami-taylors-hair-jestershark-things-that  
> (both links are on my main Tumblr, if you just want Carmilla stuff look for fanonzii)


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